Dance With Me, Harry
by TheGreySpecies
Summary: Lily tries to get her stubborn son to dance with her. - AU. Oneshot. James/Lily are alive.


This is an AU, where James and Lily are alive. And Harry grew up with them.

* * *

"Sorry," he stated stiffly, shaking his head. "I don't dance."

Without so much as a glance, he ignored the look of disappointment from the girl in question and scurried away, trying not to feel too harassed by all the attention that he was getting.

As he walked away, however, a particular red-haired beauty huffed and glared openly at his retreating back. Lily Potter couldn't _believe_ how stubborn her son was. She had thought that inviting him to his best mate's wedding would loosen him up a little–where he could forget all of his troubles and worries and simply have fun. His refusal to dance had always been an irritating habit of his at every event that the Potters attended. She didn't understand. Was he afraid of dancing? Was he afraid of his opposite gender?

But he had battled dragons and Basilisks, for Merlin's sake! Why did he fear something so . . .

 _Frivolous_.

She almost felt embarrassed by how many hearts he had broken – being the ever famous Harry Potter. Not to mention, he was notably single and had grown into quite the dashing one, in her opinion. Naturally, he gravitated the opposite gender. But he was always distracting himself with _something_. Be it discussing dragons with Charlie, teasing Ron with the twins, or even permanently hovering over the table with the treacle tart. He always found _some_ excuse to not dance. _Some_ excuse to avoid getting close to the opposite gender. But soon, Lily realised that they were not excuses . . .

He was just completely and utterly _oblivious_ to any advancements.

Huffing, she tried to mitigate her frustration by snatching a plate of treacle tart herself. Rather violently, she stabbed into it, vaguely wishing that it was her son instead. Then, she felt slightly guilty at the thought. But as she glanced across the room, she scowled. Near the fringe of the dance area, her son and Charlie (who, to Molly's dismay, was also single) stood, pointing and laughing at the rather drunken Ron Weasley, who stumbled over his laughing, newly-wed wife, Hermione. Her frustrations returned ten folds.

What was it about her son that made him so– _difficult_?

All she wanted was a happy life for him. One where he settled down and maybe stopped chasing after Dark wizards on a regular basis. Sure, she wanted grand-children. Sure, she was curious to see what type of a spouse would deal with such a hot-heated, quick tempered, devil-may-care sweet _son_ of hers . . . But she wished for his happiness. She wanted him to live the peace that he had confessed to her that he had always wanted.

Was that so hard to ask for?

"Careful there, Lils," laughed a voice from behind her. She jolted and whipped around to see her husband poking his head through the tent. "You might stab through the plate, if you keep this up."

She huffed and turned away from him.

"I was imagining your son in place of it," she confessed, resuming her assassination of the tart in question.

James raised a brow.

"Really?" he asked, genuinely surprised. It was rare for Lily to be frustrated with Harry. "It's finally caved in, then?"

She whipped around.

"Oh, James," she cried. "Look at him! This happens all the time. We invite him all the time to weddings and such so he can loosen up a bit. So he can enjoy himself. And look where he is –"

"He doesn't like dancing," he said, shrugging. "What's wrong with that?"

Lily glared.

"Oh, I see," she huffed. "Always in his good books, aren't you? Always taking his side–"

"No, I'm just–"

"Of course, men will be men–"

"Lily, I– "

"It's _humiliating_ –"

"Don't you think you're being a bit unreasonable?"

"No."

Well, then.

James gave her a long piercing stare before he straightened up, adjusted his glasses in a serious way–pun intended–and cleared his throat.

"Lily," he said in a deathly quiet tone.

"What?" she snapped, her eyes gleaming with a challenge.

He outstretched a hand.

"Dance with me," he flashed a roguish grin that instantly melted her heart. Forgetting about her frustrations, she accompanied him to the dance floor, suddenly feeling young again.

But as soon as they got into their positions, James began.

"You see, flower," he said in a sort of wise tone. "Not all men dislike the intricacy of dancing. No need to be prejudiced." He flashed a grin.

Lily huffed.

"I'm _not_ being prejudiced," she protested. "I'm just –"

"Exaggerating?" he asked innocently. "Generalizing? Disregarding the truth?"

She pouted.

"Oh, you," she admonished. He laughed as he pulled her into a twirl. "You're _always_ mocking me."

He placed a hand to his heart.

"You?" he cried. "Never!"

"I beg to differ."

"Look," he said seriously. "If it upsets you so much, why don't you go and talk to him about it?"

She pouted.

"You think I haven't?" she snapped, looking very irritated. "You know how stubborn he is. I've tried reasoning with him. Goes through one ear and comes out the other."

"Well, why don't _you_ dance with him, then?"

She blinked.

"What?" she breathed, taken-aback.

James continued hastily. "He can't reject you. You're his mother."

Lily's green eyes widened with surprise. Of course, her husband, clever as he was, could deliver such a simple solution–a solution so simple that she was sure that it had never occurred to her. A soft grin formed on her features.

If there was one thing that everyone knew, it was that Harry would never say no to his mother.

"But of course," she breathed a laugh. "How _foolish_ of me–How-how brilliant of _you_ to come up with such a clever idea."

He batted his eyelashes in mock embarrassment.

"Me? Clever?" he exclaimed, "Oh, stop it, Lily, I'm blushing."

Feeling faintly frustrated, she grasped his wrist and practically dragged with her.

"You're coming with me," she declared, ignoring his cries of protest. She had a hard time dragging him since he was stalling the meeting with his heels. But soon, they arrived, and she finally let go of him.

"Bloody women," he muttered, adjusting his robes irritably.

But Lily ignored him.

Instead, she quietly tread behind the two men, who were watching the couples dance around. It occurred to her that they were engaged in heavy discussion. Her ears perked when she realised what they were talking about.

"Quite the feisty one, she is," chuckled Charlie, sipping from the glass of wine that he was holding. "You can't even get within an arm's length of her without her wailing like a banshee."

"Sounds like someone I'd get along with," replied Harry, adjusting his glasses. But Charlie laughed.

Lily couldn't tell if it was a sarcastic response. But even if it was, she firmly denied it. Her heart soared with joy. Surely her son had finally found someone? Surely he could give her grand-children? She met James's eyes with an ever-growing grin.

"Well," said Charlie, grinning. "If you don't mind having third degree burns every night, then she'd be a great match for you."

Third-degree burns? What–?

Oh.

They were talking about dragons.

Lily sighed.

She then approached her son, hugged him around the waist, and laid her chin on his shoulder. It always startled her that, despite how oblivious he seemed, he never seemed surprised when she snuck up to him.

"'Lo, Mum," he greeted, smiling warmly.

Despite her irritation with him, her heart instantly melted.

"I don't suppose you two were discussing your future spouses, were you?" she accused. The other two glanced at each other then at James, who simply shrugged in response.

"Well," chuckled Charlie. "If you count dragons as spouses, then yeah, I'm practically married to dragons myself."

"So am I," winked James, shooting a furtive glance at his wife. When she glared in return, he muttered. "Point proven."

She rolled her eyes and turned to her son.

"Harry," she began softly.

"Something wrong, Mum?" he asked, rather concernedly from over his shoulder.

"Well, love," she said stiffly. "There's . . . something I've got to ask you."

Harry looked bewildered. He shot James a puzzled look, in which James simply gave him a thumbs up. But before he could ponder the matter, his mother emerged from behind him with a hand outstretched, a lovely smile on her face.

"Dance with me, Harry," she laughed softly. Harry, however, gave a surprised look and appraised her before he did something that irritated Lily beyond measure.

He shook his head.

"Sorry, Mum," he smiled sheepishly. "But I don't dance."

James slapped a palm over his head.

And Lily . . .?

Lily wilted.

Literally.

"W-What?" she cried, growing red by the minute. "What do you mean you don't _dance_? You will dance with me, Harry Potter, if it's the last thing you do!"

She didn't notice that Charlie had quietly excused himself. And that James was generously helping himself to the floating plates above them.

But, yet again, Harry shook his head.

"I can't," he said nonchalantly. "I haven't been dancing with anyone else. It's not fair to them if I start now."

Lily blinked.

She leaned forward and said softly. "But I have a better reason why you should start now."

He shot her a suspicious stare.

"What?"

She smiled warmly and outstretched a hand.

"I'm your mother," she stated softly. A flicker of hesitance crossed his eyes, and she knew she was getting through to him. He looked at his father questionably. But James simply shrugged.

"Don't get me involved in this," he said defensively, "My hands are clean. Well . . ." he grimaced at his frosting-filled hands. "Mostly, anyway."

Finally, Harry stepped forward.

"Oh, all right," he sighed, taking her hand. She struggled to suppress the giddy feeling in her stomach. "Just for you, then."

She beamed.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she said, leading him to the dance area.

She felt a rush of nostalgia cross her as she guided his hands where they needed to be. She remembered the old times when he had been so small, when she had to tuck him to bed every night, when she had to teach him to hold a wand, or how to hold a broomstick. He had hardly reached her knees, then. But now, he had grown. He was taller than her now. He had become the person that she had always wanted him to be. It was funny to her that he still needed that small bit of guidance, even at the age of twenty-five.

Though he had grown, there were some things that never seemed to change. His black hair was still as messy as ever. He was still thin and bespectacled. For the fanciful occasion, however, she had encouraged him to wear his emerald robes that emphasised his eyes. She often thought that he wore her bright green eyes better than she did. The stark contrast between his dark, thick eyelashes emphasised the colour quite elegantly. But then again . . . she was his mother.

Her observations were purely subjective.

"Must you be so difficult?" she pouted.

He furrowed his eyebrows. He looked bemused.

"What do you mean?"

"You can battle a dragon and a Basilisk, but you're too timid to dance with a girl."

"I'm not _timid_ ," he replied indignantly. "I just don't like dancing."

"Denial," she laughed, pinching his nose.

He scowled.

"What gave you that idea?"

"You agreed to dance with me," she said in a matter-of-fact.

"So?"

"So you rejected everyone else," she said with a raised eyebrow. "And I'm your mother, you're always comfortable with me."

"Does right now count as well?" he said, mildly irritated.

She looked confused.

"Why?"

"I'm not comfortable at the moment."

Unable to contain herself, she laughed. Her ankle length, emerald dress robes fluttered across her feet. Her curled red locks curtained her fair features, making her look much younger than she was. Deep inside, she knew that she should cherish every moment today with her son. It was rare that he showed any signs of affection towards her or others. Much less even agree to dance with her. Not to mention, she hardly saw him at all nowadays, being the busy person that he was.

She had missed these moments.

"I want grand-children!" she protested.

"Well, maybe I'm not the right person to ask for it," he chuckled, twirling her rather expertly despite his inexperience.

"Oh, pray tell," she scoffed. "Who else could I ask? You haven't a sibling."

Harry raised a brow.

"You're blaming me?"

"I'm not _blaming_ you," she said exasperatedly. "I'm just– _impatient_ , that's all."

"Sorry, Mum," he smiled sheepishly. "But I can't give you what you want at the moment."

"Why not?"

She suspected it had something to do with his ruddy Auror rubbish that he seemed to spend all of his time on. She was expecting him to admit it. But to her surprise, he simply smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling.

"There's only room for one woman in my life," he said quietly.

Despite herself, she felt her eyes glisten with tears. Forgetting about the dance, she leapt into his arms, resisting the urge to sob. Of course, she didn't want to give him away. Of course, she wanted him to stay with her forever. But there was a new life waiting for him out there. Just as James had waited for her. There was someone else for him. There was another adventure out there. Most of his friends had realised it.

"Do you really think I _want_ you to leave?" she sniffed, though the smell of treacle tart filled her sense. "I want you to be happy."

Harry pulled away.

"But I _am_ happy," he protested. "I've got a job– "

"Job? What sort of job?" she fumed. "One that leaves you with only three hours of sleep every night. I don't even know if you'll come back alive!"

"Story of my life," he muttered. He then took her hands and lowered his voice. "Look, there's something I've got to tell you."

She frowned. Her eyes searched his for an answer.

"What is it?"

"Er–well–I–" he said uneasily. Lily's eyes widened. Could it be . . .? "I've been promoted!"

Lily's heart sank.

"More work?" she asked dejectedly.

Harry laughed.

"Thanks, Mum," he said dryly, "Real subtle."

She sighed, then led him to the entrance of the tent where they could watch the constellations of the night.

"If anything," she began. "At least I managed to get something out of you tonight." She smiled weakly, feeling a twinge of guilt for not expressing her joy over his promotion. But she couldn't bring herself to be happy. She couldn't even convince herself to _fake_ it.

Harry gave her a puzzled look.

"What?"

Her eyes glistened. "To dance, of course."

She didn't know what came over her. Maybe it was the fact that she had not seen him for almost three months that had crippled her. Maybe it was the fact that she was being unreasonable. Maybe it was the fact that she was being too protective. As if hearing her thoughts, however, a firm set of arms wrapped around her, and she buried her head further into his chest.

"I'll save the next one for you, I swear," he murmured. Startled, she pulled away and looked at him through blotchy eyes.

"What next one?" she breathed.

But he didn't answer. Instead, he kissed her forehead and started to walk away. But ever the curious one, she shouted after him.

"What next one?"

"You'll see," he waved, a hint of laughter in his voice. "Bye, Mum."

She watched his retreating back, his emerald robes billowing behind him. Nearby bystanders also watched him depart. But Lily's mind was racing. Besides Charlie, who was too distracted to marry anyone, there were no more weddings coming up. Everyone else, mainly the Weasleys, Neville, and Remus, had already confessed their vows. Who else was left besides . . .

Could it be . . .?

A tinkle of laughter escaped her lips. Surely _she_ didn't have to be the one asking for an invitation next time.

She had done her part well tonight.

* * *

A/N: My other stories were making me really depressed, so I decided to write a light-hearted one. I always like the concept of single Harry. I don't really feel like he's the type for romantic relationships. I like him better as a free agent.

I do feel like, out of his two parents, he would be closest to Lily.

Anyway, the hint at the end . . . Feel free to interpret. I don't do slash, so no Harry/Charlie (I know that's what you're thinking).


End file.
